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I'll start this post with a scene to warm the holiday season. A summer pond reflection from near Cooke City, Montana. Only the mosquitos are missing.
The year started and ended frosty. Sub zero temperatures in January and December bookended the year. Other than minor inconvenience, the cold weather was short lived and offered a brief respite from fishing.
I've grown to prefer fishing midges. Often, they're a most reliable hatch. And, mid-winter, the only game if one desires casting to rising trout. Thankfully, February and March were both nice and offered several pleasant days and opportunities for squinting at the waters surface. Midges continued to fish well into May.
In spite of declining visual acuity, fishing with twenty-two's became routine. I comfortably ventured into the use of 7X and now view 6X as a luxury. Five X is nearly suitable for dredging up halibut.

Lucy, the matriarch of the sofa claiming dog clan made it beyond sixteen. She left behind …

I know that I'm not the only one that feels the seasonal sense of urgency. All of us who live in northerly climes know it. The clock is running. The big W is around the corner. We can't keep it at bay, but we can sure make the most of the remaining days.
September? Glorious. There's just not enough of it. Bob Garnier recently posted about it on his great little blog, Trout on Dries. But then, as an Albertan, he knows about urgency and winter. As a Montanan, I appreciate Alberta. Heck, they send us weather.
No matter. Back to September. It's an embarrassment of riches. Back when I bowhunted avidly, I'd spend weeks wearing out boot soles by chasing elk in the high country. Now, other vices have supplanted the pursuit of elk.
There's birds and dogs to chase, high and low. Trout to catch that now revel in the cooling water. Just pick a river to fish. And, heaven forbid, steelhead, if.....
So far we've spent a day in the high county where th…